


Up All Night to Get Lucky

by inlovewithnight



Category: Justified
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 19:50:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1177207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim is very tired of Raylan's shit.</p><p>(Written for Porn Battle XV, prompt "bruise")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Up All Night to Get Lucky

“Shut up,” Tim says, clear and distinct, like he’s getting paid to enunciate, “or I will make you shut up.”

Raylan’s in the back seat, supposedly looking for their backup binoculars since he dropped the first set out the window due to a combination of not paying attention and trying to explain to Tim the finer points of a story about how a fine upstanding young backwoods Harlan drug dealer ended up getting shot in a way that was absolutely justified on Raylan’s part.

The story annoyed Tim, dropping the binoculars pissed him off, and from the tone of his voice now he’s headed for downright mad and getting closer to it the more it becomes clear that Raylan has stopped looking for the backups and is just taking advantage of the fact that the back gives him more room to stretch out his legs.

Raylan never has been able to leave well enough alone, though. He was an impulsive and curious kid and now as an adult he’s… well. He’s got a documented problem with authority and a tendency to shoot first and ask questions later.

Shoot first. Never draw first. Important difference.

“Tim,” he says, tapping his boot against the back of the driver’s seat. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you’re not enjoying our time together.”

“What would give you that idea, Raylan?”

Raylan looks at him in the rearview mirror and taps the corner of his own eye. “You got a little vein jumping, right… there. Sign of stress, you know.”

“I’m stuck in an SUV with a moron in the middle of fuck-all nowhere, waiting for some other morons to stop touching themselves long enough to haul out a bunch of dope for sale, on the off chance that one of said other morons is a federal fugitive wanted for the quintessentially moronic crime of transporting a minor across state lines.”

Raylan raises an eyebrow at Tim’s reflection in the mirror. “Not a crime just to _transport_ ‘em.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“It’s gotta be for illegal, immoral, or seditious purposes.”

“It does not. How can a minor have anything to do with seditious--” Tim cuts himself off and takes a deep breath. “Shut up, Raylan.”

“Tim.” Raylan rests his chin on the headrest of Tim’s seat. “You’re not doing well, Tim. Talk to me, now. Is it something at home?”

Tim sighs deeply and rubs the back of his neck. “Raylan…”

“You can tell me anything. I’m all ears, and these boys aren’t doing nothing tonight.”

“They might.”

“No, they won’t, if you look through that little window there you can see that they’ve turned on the wrestling, they are settled in.”

Tim takes another breath. “Then we’re going back to the office, and I’m going home. I’m not spending my night pouring my heart out to a moron, let me emphasize that again, a moron, who does not know the finer points of fugitive law, despite that being his entire fucking job.”

“Fine.” Raylan sits back. “You keep being an asshole, and I’ll tell stories about growing up in Harlan all the way back to the courthouse.”

“I believe I told you to shut up or I would make you shut up.”

“Yeah, you did, but clearly I’m still waiting on that one, buddy.”

Anybody else would twist around and come flying back at him over the center console. Raylan’s braced himself for that. But this is Tim, Tim of the careful control and inexpressive forehead, and so instead he sighs one more time, gets out of the car, comes around to the back door, opens it, climbs inside, and _then_ punches Raylan in the neck.

“Ow!” Raylan grabs at him, trying to get a hold he can use to take control of this, but Tim is a step ahead of him as usual. He gets his knee up between Raylan’s thighs and Raylan falls back from the pressure, going flat on the seat with Tim on top of him.

Tim pins his wrists easily and stares down at him. “Are you done?”

“Get off me.”

“Are you gonna shut that mouth of yours?”

Raylan grins at him, or maybe it’s baring his teeth, a flash of spit on white that makes Tim’s eyes narrow and his hands tighten on Raylan’s wrists. “Thought you were gonna make me.”

Tim stares down at him, face going as blank and unreadable as usual after that brief flash of reaction. “Raylan Givens, you are a genuine pain in my life, you understand that?”

Raylan frowns. “Isn’t the saying a pain in your ass?”

“It goes beyond that.” Tim pulls away slowly, rubbing his hands on his thighs as he gets out of the SUV and goes back to the driver’s seat. “Buckle up, we’re going back to the office. I’ll let you choose the radio station if you promise to be quiet.”

Raylan surprises them both by doing what he’s told.

**

Back at the courthouse, they find their way around by the emergency lights, first up to the office to turn in the keys and sign the damn form logging the SUV back in, then down to the locker room. It’s all in raw silence. Raylan keeps glancing at Tim, almost coming up with something to say.

He chickens out every time, though. Tim’s looking more blank and guarded than usual, which is a pretty good sign to keep your mouth shut and your eyes on your own business. Raylan changes into his civvies and steps into the bathroom area to piss and maybe stick his head under the faucet, wash off some of the sweat going nasty-tacky in his hair.

He doesn’t hear Tim’s footsteps over the sound of the water running, doesn’t see him in the mirror with his head down in the sink. He doesn’t know anything’s coming until he’s being grabbed by the shoulders and pushed up against the wall, the faucet clipping his temple and leaving him just stunned enough that Tim can hold him there without a struggle.

Tim kisses him, hot and angry, teeth catching Raylan’s lip hard enough to split the skin. Raylan jerks back, hits his head on the wall and hisses, but Tim kisses him again, more gently this time, and he gives up, gives into it. Why the hell not? Life is fucking weird and fucking hard, nothing makes a damn bit of sense, and at least this is the kind of hot and angry that won’t leave a bullet in anybody.

God, he hopes it doesn’t leave a bullet in anybody. Tim’s PTSD is all fun and games but Raylan doesn’t want to get shot over it.

“Get your damn pants open,” Tim groans, an edge of desperate in his voice, and Raylan does as he’s told.

“Holy shit.” Tim sighs and bites the curve of Raylan’s jaw, just hard enough that it’ll bruise without being so hard that Raylan hits his head again. “You’re doing what I fucking tell you. That’s something new.”

“Does it turn you on?” Raylan shoves his jeans down enough to guide his dick out of his briefs. “Wait, don’t tell me, that’d be weird.”

“Shut up, Raylan.” Tim drops to his knees and Raylan only has a second to think about how maybe this is weird, too, that he’s going to get his dick sucked by a colleague in the locker-room bathroom.

Then he _is_ getting his dick sucked by a colleague in the locker-room bathroom and he doesn’t really think about it anymore.

Tim only gets him halfway, because Tim is a genuine A-grade bad person, and then he stands up again and pins Raylan’s wrists to the wall. “I’m standing here with my pants down and my dick out, Tim,” Raylan says, trying to pull his hands away. He gives up when Tim just squeezes harder. “What are you doing?”

Tim kisses him, which isn’t an answer but it’s nicer than a knee in the balls, which is what Raylan was afraid was coming. “Jerk me off,” Tim says, his breath hot and warm against Raylan’s mouth. “C’mon.”

“But what about--” Raylan looks down at his own still-hard dick and then back at Tim, trying to signal him with his goddamn eyes that this is a party foul per excellance.

“Yeah,” Tim sighs. “I’ll get back to that in a minute? It’s just that it occurred to me that I really ought to get off first, given that you are an incorrigible asshole.”

“If this is your dirty talk, no wonder you’re single.”

“Standing here with your dick hanging out and still running your mouth, Givens.” Tim guides one of Raylan’s hands to his crotch, and Raylan obliges with getting Tim’s zipper down. “How has nobody killed you yet?”

“Just lucky, I guess.” Raylan closes his eyes and lets Tim’s weight settle against him, Tim’s chest to his, Tim’s free hand still heavy on Raylan’s forearm. It’s been a while since Raylan’s had any dick in his hand but his own, and the position is awkward, and he’s still not totally sure this isn’t Tim setting him up for some kind of punishment or humiliation, but--

But it’s not like this is the kind of thing you forget how to do, and Raylan’s a sucker for easy human contact, especially of the sweaty and sticky kind. That might be what they put on his goddamn tombstone.

Tim’s breath hitches and stutters, his eyes close and his fingers dig into Raylan’s forearm, but he doesn’t make a sound when he comes. “That another sniper skill?” Raylan asks, wiping his hand on Tim’s jeans.

“You really do never shut the fuck up.” Tim shakes his head and gets down on his knees again, takes Raylan deep before he even gets close to coming up with a response, and then it’s all over but his hips bucking and his head hitting the goddamn wall _again_ and Tim pulling back to spit on the floor.

“You leaving that for the janitor to clean up?” Raylan asks when he catches his breath.

“Oughta make you get down on the floor and lick it clean.” Tim stands up and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. “But I have a suspicion that would be pushing my luck in the you doing as you’re told department.”

“It would at that.” Raylan looks at him for a long moment. “You want to go get a beer?”

“I want to go get something a hell of a lot harder.”

“I’m flattered, but I could use the beer first.”

For the first time all day, Tim cracks a smile. “Jesus Christ, Raylan. I repeat the question. How exactly has nobody killed you yet?”

Raylan shrugs and smiles back. “Still the same answer.”

“Just lucky.” Tim shakes his head. “Least tonight I got lucky, too.” He turns and walks out of the bathroom, a pale silhouette in the ghost-glow of the emergency lights. “See you in the morning, Raylan. Don’t be late, or I might have to push my luck again.”


End file.
